In The Air Tonight
by Novindalf
Summary: Ruth, Harry, an evening visit, and the truth about Albany will out. Set a fair while post-9.08, and post-enquiry. *SPOILERS FOR 9x08*


***SPOILERS FOR 9.08***

**Disclaimer:** Spooks belongs to the BBC and Kudos. The fic title is from the song with the awesome drum solo, _In The Air Tonight_ by Phil Collins.

**Characters:** Ruth, Beth, Harry, Ruth/Harry

**Summary:** Ruth, Harry, an evening visit, and the truth about Albany will out. Set a fair while post-9.08, and post-enquiry.

Meant to post this last week, but the penguins/squirrels distracted me... For the Twitter girls =)

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**In The Air Tonight**

It was a rarity for Ruth to find herself at home before eight o'clock in the evening. Usually she'd be the last – well, second last – on the Grid, there long after every blind in the building had been pulled over the bulletproof windows, to keep the outside world from seeing through the one-way glass. But today, which had been so slow that the front-page headline was about a minor construction company going bust, when four o'clock came around Harry emerged from his office, took one look at his bored-stiff team, and told them all to go home, adding for her benefit, "Yes Ruth, that includes you."

She'd been at a loss with what to do at first. Though she wasn't as bad as she had been five years ago, work did, for the most part, take up such a huge chunk of her life that there was never really time for anything else. She debated over going for a walk along the Thames, wandering in Covent Garden for a while, or even taking a look at some of the many museums and exhibitions London had to offer – her Classicist's heart was never really far away after all – but when Beth asked her if she wanted a lift home, she ended up taking up the offer.

Nestled down on the sofa, a glass of wine on the coffee table and her book in her hand, she stretched out her legs with a yawn. She wasn't tired, but it was nice to be able to take it easy and relax for a change, her mind far removed from analysis of any kind. She glanced over at Beth, who hadn't been so lucky; her flatmate was curled up in the armchair, smothered in paperwork as she prepared her legend for an upcoming operation. She leafed through the heavy file balanced precariously on her knee, memorising every little detail. Perhaps Ruth could quiz her on it all later.

The doorbell rang, and they both looked up at each other. Ruth, pitying Beth in the sea of documents, put down her book and got up. It would probably be just a door-to-door salesman or something; they never did heed the 'We do not buy or sell at this door' sign.

The doorbell rang for a second time as she crossed the hall, wrapping her cardigan more tightly around herself and nearly tripping over the rug.

"Coming!" she called, fumbling with the many keys to unlock the door. Missing the lock altogether, she dropped the bunch on the floor. She muttered under her breath as she bent down to pick it up, found the key she needed, and finally opened the door. "Sorry abou-"

She stopped. Far from being a door-to-door salesman, it was Harry who was on her door step, sporting an apologetic smile and a curious frown at her flustered face.

"Harry," she noted, a little unnecessarily.

Neither spoke for a moment at first, she taking in the fact that he was there, and sending her brain into overdrive trying to figure out why, and he admiring the blush that crept even higher in her face.

"Picking a fight with your key?" he eventually asked, amused. "You know, I don't know of anyone else who would use the word 'Thing!' as a curse..." She smiled ruefully, and he with her. "I'm sorry I'm calling quite late," he began more seriously.

She half-laughed, half-smiled again at that; they both knew that this was _early_ compared to her usual arrival home.

"That's alright," she assured him, folding her arms against the chill and stepping back so he could come out of the cold, let him past, and then closed the door behind him.

"Is everything okay?" came Beth's voice from the next room, having heard the door shut.

"Fine!" Ruth replied, her eyes kept riveted to Harry's.

A couple of seconds later, they heard her voice again. "Okay, I think I'll turn- Oh, hello Harry." Beth stopped in surprise in the doorway, just in the way that Ruth had. Her eyes flitted between the two of them, standing significantly further apart than they had been a second ago, both looking rather awkward at having been discovered. Ruth in particular – she was definitely fighting down a blush, and the scarf on the stair-post seemed to be meriting her intense concentration – although Harry too, standing a little more rigidly than normal and trying to be his usual authoritative self despite his open collar and rolled-up shirt sleeves, was also displaying sufficient discomfort. Beth decided to take pity on the hopeless pair.

"Right, well I'm off to bed," she said, adjusting the stack of files she held in her arms. "See you both tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Ruth replied, turning to face her. Both she and Harry followed her progress up the stairs with their eyes, and then Ruth turned back to him.

"Well I'd better be going anyway," Harry interjected before she could say anything.

"No," she protested. "Stay." She could tell exactly what he was doing; Beth's unexpected interruption had thrown him off, and he was backing out. It seemed more of a thing that _she _would do, if she was honest. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"It doesn't matter," he replied.

"I'm sure-"

"No, really, it's nothing." She might not believe him, but it was actually the truth. He really had come with no agenda, professional or personal; he just wanted to see her, outside of the pressured atmosphere of work. He wasn't entirely sure how he came to be here, just that as he had been driving home he had ended up at her doorstep.

He shuffled on the spot slightly, making as if to leave.

"Harry," she said suddenly. "Umm, would you like a glass of wine?"

Harry stopped in his tracks, somewhat reminded of a similar conversation they'd had before. Then he smiled his consent and replied, "Yes Ruth, I think I would." She smiled in return, and took his jacket from him, hanging it over the stair-post where it nestled against her scarf. She waved him into the lounge.

"Take a seat," she said. "I'll just get a glass."

Safely back in the kitchen, she leaned heavily against the worktop. What was she _thinking_? Things had been strained, to say the least, since the Albany affair and the subsequent inquiry, and though the tension had alleviated a little once she found out the blueprints had never worked there was still no escaping the fact that he had committed treason for her, put his career and indeed his life on the line for her (she brushed aside the fact that only a few years ago she had done the same thing for him), and come damn close to losing everything he had ever worked for. Oh and that everyone within ten miles of the intelligence circle knew about it.

Were she living in a cliché, she would probably have splashed water on her face by now. Instead she had to make do with opening the window and taking in deep calming breaths of the cold air, before getting out a fresh glass and a new bottle of wine, and then heading back to him.

When she re-entered the room, it was to find him sitting in the exact place she had recently vacated on the sofa. She brushed aside any thoughts of coincidence or not, and held out the glass to him. He took it from her, and held out the book that had been left on the sofa.

"Page 133," he said to her as he handed it over. He knew as well as she did that it was the Ovid he had given her all those years ago. Wordlessly, she set it down on the coffee table, along with the bottle of wine. Without a coaster, Harry noticed amused, although there were plenty strewn around the room. He had been right in his estimations there then.

Ruth settled down on the other end of the sofa, and there was an interlude of silence as they both sipped their wine. Though it was neither unbearable nor awkward, it felt like a waste of time when so many moments had been lost between them, and Harry felt compelled to say something to fill the gap.

"I meant to thank you," he murmured. "For your testimony in the inquiry, and for helping me to sort things out afterwards..."

As had become customary, she interrupted him. "Harry, please, there's no need to thank me for that."

"There is every need, Ruth." The insistence in his voice and the earnest look in his eyes as they locked gaze only served to add to the tension in the air. A little overwhelmed, she tried to change the conversation slightly.

"Really it should be me thanking you," she spoke softly. "For... because of with... John..." She trailed off, the memory far too fresh to linger on without hurting. Harry knew that although Ruth had only known Lucas a short while, they had become close friends. He had been a kindred spirit in that he too had been forced out of his country, and he knew what it was like to come back to somewhere so unfamiliar, despite being the place he had so long called home.

"Would you have done the same?" Harry was a little startled as Ruth continued, and he eyed her warily, unsure of what she was trying to say. "It if had been real."

Then he understood. Albany.

There was another weighted silence. Ruth couldn't meet his eyes, and she started twiddling the stem of her wine glass in between her thumb and forefinger, barely breathing with anxiety.

"No," he said softly. She stopped twiddling. Her head snapped up, but he didn't meet her gaze. "I couldn't do that," he continued, his voice thick with shame. "Not to them... not to you... not even _for _you. I would never wish those lives on anybody's conscience, certainly not yours. I couldn't bear to..." He trailed off, his voice uncharacteristically fragile. He swallowed awkwardly and looked up, praying he hadn't been wrong to think so, expecting to see accusation in her eyes, or anger, or worse...

But her face was expressionless as she stared at the translucent swirl of liquid in her glass. Had the service been the one to harden her, or had he? How much of the loss of her innocent – _but not naive_ – and blithe quirkiness had been lost when she went into exile, and how much had he obliterated when he had as good as ordered George's death? The familiar numbing sensation of guilt threatened to engulf him, but this time he could not quash it. What right had he to trade Albany for Ruth's life, when scarcely a year ago he had killed her husband?

The answer surfaced, a mantra that he had run through his head and repeated aloud constantly throughout the inquiry. _Albany was a fake._ That was the difference. The Albany file would not cause any deaths; the uranium would have. It still wasn't enough to alleviate the guilty sickness in his core.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Ruth take a deep breath, and he looked up in time to see her nod slowly.

"Thank you," she said, feeling a bit like a broken record as their eyes met. They held each other's gaze for several minutes, in silence but for the soft sound of their breathing and the faint echo of traffic from outside. For the first time, neither felt awkward in this void of conversation. Ruth was loath to tear her eyes away from his, but to hold her gaze much longer had implications she wasn't quite ready for, so she shifted slightly in her seat and looked away.

"Top-up?" she asked him, indicating the bottle of wine.

He consented and as she refilled his glass he caught sight of the label. "White burgundy," he murmured, remembering. "Thermobaric bombs."

"The Grand Tour."

They both smiled gently in nostalgia. "Ruth," he began, "you must have known-"

"Please." She held out a hand to stop him from going any further. "Let's not hurry anything. Don't throw me in the deep end when I'm only learning to swim."

Even she felt her logic was flawed there when they had been dancing around each other for so long, but he knew what she meant. When he finished his glass, he set it down on the table, more than a little reluctantly.

"I'd better be going," he said. She stood with him, and they went into the hallway. As he shrugged on his coat, he remembered her Ovid. "Don't forget," he reminded her, "page-"

"I won't."

He settled into his coat, enjoying the subtle scent on it of her scarf. "Of course not." She smiled gently. "I'll see you tomorrow." He shuffled past her and stepped out the door, stopping in his tracks when he heard his name.

"Harry?"

"Mmm?" He turned. She stood in the doorway, her cardigan wrapped around her once again against the child, a silhouette against the glow of light from the hall. Slowly, she stepped out barefoot onto the doorstep, then reached up to him. He felt the gentle pressure of her lips on his cheek as she kissed him softly, lingering that one second extra.

"Good night Harry."

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**Hopefully this wasn't too mundane, or out of character. I really wanted to write a scene where we see Harry and Ruth simply spending an evening together as though it was the norm for them, but then I felt the Albany hurdles needed to be addressed and overcome. The way I see this fic is as the first of many evening between them.**

**Anyway, thanks very much for reading, and if you could find it in you to leave a review on you way out, that would be most appreciated =)**

**P.S. I was so tempted to get Wendy's 'bitch-slap' line from Being Human into this where Ruth wrestles with her keys, but it didn't seem quite right... I dare someone to get it in a fic somewhere! =P**


End file.
